


I tied the noose (but You are the rope)

by hyenateeth



Series: Official Affairs [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blood Kink, Body Horror, Consensual Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingerfucking, Footnotes, Humor, Immortal Violence, Masochism, Other, Post-Canon, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Under-negotiated Kink, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24548740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyenateeth/pseuds/hyenateeth
Summary: “I could crush you, insect,” growled Michael, her face so close to Beelzebub’s that if she breathed, they could have certainly felt her breath. “I have smote fouler beasts than you.”“You szzure?” rasped Beelzebub. They did not need to breathe any more than Michael — that would be silly, but the constriction on their throat was tight enough to affect their speech. It definitely wasn’t because they were hamming it up. “I’m pretty foul.”-Lord Beelzebub and Archangel Michael find a way to blow off some steam after Crowley’s trial.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Michael (Good Omens)
Series: Official Affairs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907995
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	I tied the noose (but You are the rope)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Contains two immortal non humans partaking in fairly extreme violence, that both parties enjoy but it is at no point truly negotiated. For a more detailed/potentially spoilery warning about specific acts of violence, please check out the End Notes.
> 
> Also contains way too many flies for a supposed porn fic. 
> 
> Overworked Middle Management!Beelzebub and Frustrated Ex-General Working a Desk Job!Michael are canon right? Anyway, sorry about all the sin.

Overall, Beelzebub was having a pretty bad week. Not that they had a lot of good weeks in Hell,1 but this week had been a unique type of torture — and Beelzebub knew a thing or two about torture. The business with the Antichrist — spoiled little git — had been bad enough. This kind of thing reflected badly on them after all, since they were supposed to keep things running, and the Boss wasn’t known for being understanding of mistakes. And it’s not like the Boss was the one dealing with the aftershocks - no, he wouldn’t show his face around the _peons_. It all fell on Beelzebub - to plan the trial, to collude with Heaven, to deal with the masses of agitated, angry demons on the edge of riot.

And then, just when they thought things were looking up, it went from bad to worse. The traitor Crowley’s trial had been meant to set things right, restore order, impress the Boss, and give Beelzebub something to feel good about before dealing with the inevitable mountain of papers building on their desk. With Heaven’s assistance it really seemed like a guaranteed win. The traitor would be eliminated and Beelzebub would have at least one less snake to worry about, and a bit of good old fashioned public execution would satisfy the demonic masses. The trial would put it right.

The trial had not done that. 

After they let Crowley calmly saunter out of Hell, stunned silence filled the room, and after a long moment Beelzebub returned to their horned throne, sitting down wearily.

They cleared their throat with a buzz, before managing to get their words out in snap. “Dagon, Hastur. Out.” 

“Where-” started Dagon, before seeing the look on the Prince’s face, and both demons quickly scrambled away, understanding that it was best that they make themselves scarce. Michael, still staring dumbly at the bathtub as if the demon or… whatever he was now... was still in it, did not react to their leaving in any way. She just kept staring, mouth agape.

“Closzzzze your mouth, Michael,” Beelzebub grumbled, stoking their anger so they could ignore their fear. “You’ll catch flieszzz.” 

That seemed to break Michael’s stunned trance because suddenly the angel was whirling around, all flowing sleeves and shining gold, fixing a wretched glare on Beelzebub. 

“What the _fuck_ was that?” she snarled, still holding her empty pitcher with both hands, looking absolutely ridiculous raging in her flowing white blouse — but also undeniably intimidating. “How- how did you possibly mess this up?”

“ _Me?_ You think thiszzz was my fault?”

“He was your operative!”

“My- and what of your operative?”

As if on cue, Michael’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Beelzebub sneered as the angel jumped and pulled it out. They didn’t care for the devices. Crowley had always been going on about ‘mobile’ this and ‘computer’ that, like Beelzebub had the time to worry about the latest human fads. 

“What is it?” Michael snapped into the phone — and then listened, and listened some more, a grave expression taking over her face. 

“I understand,” she said tersely. Then she hung up. 

Then she screamed, an ugly, unangelic sound, and threw the glass pitcher against the wall.

“I take it your szzide didn’t do much better,” drawled Beelzebub, pretending not to have been startled by the shattering of glass, but still eyeing the shards carefully for any lingering holy water. 

“So what now?” snarled Michael, storming towards Beelzebub like they were the one responsible for this. “We just let them both go?”

“We aren’t doing anything,” retorted Beelzebub. “I agreed to work with your szzzide to eliminate the traitorszzz, nothing elszze.” Their flies buzzed angrily around their face, and Beelzebub wanted to quite literally crawl out of their skin. If Michael didn’t leave in a minute, they just might. Beelzebub was already trying to figure out what they would say to the Boss to explain this mess — they didn’t need Archangel Michael prodding at them too. All the same, bloody angels, always acting like they had the right to be anywhere, even Hell. 

Michael glared at Beelzebub a moment more before closing her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself, before she straightened up, making eye contact with the demon. 

“You’re not an idiot, Beelzebub,” she began.

Beelzebub set their teeth. “High praiszze.”

“We both know,” Michael continued determinedly, advancing towards Beelzebub’s throne so she could lower her voice. “That our goals… that you and I have more in common than Gabriel or anyone would care to admit.”

Beelzebub rolled their eyes. “Get to the point,” they snapped, in their best Prince of Hell voice. They knew what Michael was trying to do, with her careful words and calculating gaze — and they had no patience for the angel’s manipulations. The angel had gotten cocky, thought just because they traded information sometimes she had Hell wrapped around her finger. It was laughable — as if an Angel could ever understand the Fallen.2

“If we worked together maybe-”

“And why would I work with you, _Archangel Michael_?” They made the angel’s name sound like the insult they wanted to say, and they were vaguely aware that a fly was crawling out of one of the boils on their face.3 “I may have tolerated your… dealingszz, with our officezzz, but _don’t_ get familiar. I am the Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, second only to The Dark Lord himself — I do not make dealszzz with featherbrained angelszz.” 

Again Michael snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal, and suddenly she was right up on Beelzebub, her arms grabbing either side of the throne beside the demon’s head. Her light blue eyes flashed bright in ethereal anger.

“Might I remind you who it was who defeated your _Lord_ in the last war?” Michael hissed, her words coming out like they were made of acid. “Who was it that struck him down, your _Boss_? Do you think I am someone to mock?”

And suddenly, what Beelzebub saw in Michael’s eyes they did understand. The pure, unadulterated bloodlust on Michael’s face was something they understood perfectly, being from Hell and all. And there had been a reason Michael had been the one angel any demon would tolerate talking to after all — she was the only angel untrustworthy and savage enough for them to stand.

“Oh, that’szzz it,” Beelzebub sneered, leaning up and forward and suppressing a snicker as their flies swarmed around the angel’s face, crawling into her ridiculous hairdo. To her credit, Michael did not flinch at all, even as flies hit her face. “Heaven’s been getting to you, haszzzn’t it? Not enough bloodshed for you? I do remember the great warrior who struck down my Maszzter - and look at you now, a cog — juszzt like the rest of uszzz. Holy Michael, the Archangel, playing spy gameszzz and throwing glass around like a toddler because you know thereszzz _nothing_ you can do.” 

Seeing a very unangelic expression cross Archangel Michael’s face was honestly enough to cheer Beelzebub up, just a little. There was just something about seeing wrath on an angel — it just made a demon smile. 

And then Michael’s hands were on Beelzebub’s throat, gripping with a holy strength that was disproportionate to her corporeal form’s appearance — and yes, thought Beelzebub. This was the stress relief they needed. Nothing made a demon feel good4 like a nice, successful temptation — and perhaps it was the stress of having had the worst possible week because an eleven year old brat turning reality inside out, but Beelzebub decided that tempting Michael into violence was just what they needed. 

It was a terrible idea, of course — for a multitude of reasons, not limited to the fact that they would both be in huge trouble if they were found like this, but Beelzebub couldn’t bring themselves to care. 

They did remember Michael, after all. God’s fiercest, most loyal soldier, the leader of Her army, even from before the Fall. A General denied her war. It made Beelzebub tingle at the thought of how sinfully mad the angel must be about it. Maybe a little violence was what the angel needed, too. 

Their whole body buzzed, and if the buzzing of flies could sound like mocking laughter, it did. 

“I could crush you, insect,” growled Michael, her face so close to Beelzebub’s that if she breathed, they could have certainly felt her breath. “I have smote fouler beasts than you.”

“You szzure?” rasped Beelzebub. They did not need to breathe any more than Michael — that would be silly, but the constriction on their throat was tight enough to affect their speech. It definitely wasn’t because they were hamming it up. “I’m pretty foul.”

Michael was trembling, even as her face twisted in delightful wrath — and still she was holding herself back. She certainly could crush Beelzebub’s throat like a human would crush an insect — but she didn’t. It would not kill them one bit of course — but it would be exciting, and so little excited Beelzebub these days. 

“You disgusting little bug,” said Michael, her voice sounding distorted by her own anger. The angel’s face filled Beelzebub’s vision, blue eyes burning, gold glimmering - but they thought maybe they caught a glimpse of white feathers behind her, in the flickering edges of reality. “I wanted to kill you personally, when the war started. I’d been thinking of it — how I would kill you before my- before our final triumph was over. I would put your head on a pike, a trophy of Heaven’s victory.” 

Beelzebub had definitely crossed over the line that separated “enjoying this in a ‘demon proud of a job well done’ way” and “enjoying this way too much, in a much different way” — but they were still a demon after all. So they pushed some more.

“Szzzo angry… alwayszzz thought… y’d make a good demon…”

Michael’s eyes narrowed to slits — and Beelzebub’s manifested windpipe was crushed with a twitch of the angel’s fingers. The pain had Beelzebub biting back a moan of pleasure, but they tried to keep their face impassive, as to not give away their hand.5 They failed. They couldn’t stop the trembling of their mouth, a fluttering of eyelids — and Michael was not an idiot. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, demon?” Michael sounded surprised, offended, but something like understanding was in her face, and she squeezed tighter still, until there was a sickly sounding crunch and Beelzebub could feel blood well up in their mouth. They couldn’t actually hold back a moan at the sensation — actually just a small, bubbling gasp, really, but Michael was smirking back at them now, watching thick, dark blood drip out past the demon’s lips. 

“How indecent,” the angel murmured; And, as much fun as Beelzebub was having, they really hadn’t expected Michael to suddenly sound like _that_. Tempting an angel into violence was one thing, but tempting an angel into lust — well that wasn’t Beelzebub’s style, usually. They weren’t exactly _Asmodeous_ after all, and the waivers you would have to sign to approve it would likely be the stuff of nightmare — but as the angel practically purred: “I didn’t realize the Prince of Hell was a _pervert_ ,” — well, they didn’t care about the paperwork. This wasn’t even the weirdest thing that had happened to Beelzebub today anyway. 

They tried to say something taunting, but all that came out was a broken gurgle and a spit of blood as the angel gave a final squeeze, skin ripping and splitting beneath her holy hands — and for a moment Beelzebub’s vision went white. Then they were being dropped to slump back onto their throne, head lolling unnaturally back, feeling strangely giddy as the angel stepped back from them, humming thoughtfully. 

“You really are disgusting,” Michael was saying, miracling the thick, dead blood that came out of Beelzebub off her hands with a shake. 

Beelzebub started laughing. 

Beelzebub did not laugh more than a couple times every millennia or so, not even evil cackles like Hastur was fond of — so it was a strange, unpleasant noise, made all the worse by the crushed state of their throat, but they couldn’t help it. They laughed. 

“I’m a demon,” they said once they were done, reaching up to grab their own throat, repairing it with a squelch and a crunch as their crumpled windpipe popped back to how it was meant to be. “What’szz your excuszze?” 

Michael folded her hands together primly, turning her nose up. “The full depravity of your enemy is vital knowledge.”

“Back to the holy act?” Beelzebub chuckled, cracking their newly fixed neck from side to side, straightening in their chair. “After trying to make a deal with me and breaking my neck? That’szz no fun.” 

The angel glowered at Beelzebub. “I hardly see anything fun about the situation.”

“Oh yeah, you _hated_ that. Don’t act so scandalizzzzed — it’s just a bit of stresszzz relief. You can’t tell me you don’t feel better.”

Michael looked them up and down, in that lofty, impenetrable way angels looked at things. Beelzebub hated that look. But then Michael took a step back towards the demon’s throne, then another.

“And what about you?” she asked, too innocently. 

“What?”

Another step and the angel’s legs were brushing the throne again, her tall figure looming over Beelzebub. 

“I just wondered,” she asked, her voice still a menacing picture of angelic sweetness. “If you felt better, being used as a stress ball.”

Beelzebub predicted the hand wrapping around their throat again, pinning them back to the hard metal of the throne, What they didn’t particularly expect was the hand reaching down to their trousers, shoving itself roughly into them so she could grope. 

And yes, Beelzebub had manifested genitalia once they had started provoking Michael. A fully realized body just made pain more believable and thrilling - they hadn’t been paying particular attention to the area.

Beelzebub not paying attention to their genitalia didn’t not seem to stop them from being wet and wanting when Michael’s fingers found it, though. Despite themselves, Beelzebub practically yelped at the first brush at their clitoris, squirming, unused to the sensation. It was strange but not unpleasant — which was strange in and of itself.6 Pleasure was not something Beelzebub often felt, not deep in the offices of Hell. And then, as suddenly as Michael had reached into their trousers, she was pulling her hand away again — and Beelzebub couldn’t help but chase the sensation with a jerk of their hips as it was taken away. 

“I thought as much,” said Michael, chipperly, squeezing at Beelzebub’s throat again, this time taking the time to deliberately dig her nails into the demon’s sallow skin as she did so. A wave of her hand saw Beelzebub’s trousers open, so the angel could tug them down to their knees. Then Michael was gripping Beelzebub’s thighs, repositioning them so their knees were up to their chest, using her grip on their throat to shove Beelzebub down on their throne, so the small demon was practically, but not quite, laying on it, their legs nearly bound by their trousers as they were folded in half, the Archangel Michael hunching over them, straddling their throne.

Cunt exposed, it occurred to Beelzebub that they really, _really_ shouldn’t be letting the angel manhandle them like this. Temptation or no, this was definitely against the rules, and it certainly wouldn’t make Beelzebub look like a good leader, if someone came by and saw them like this. They would become the laughingstock of Hell, if not deemed a traitor. And besides, in this position Beelzebub could easily kick Michael away if they wanted. They shouldn’t be letting this happen, shouldn’t be enjoying it.

But a brat with a dog shouldn’t have stopped the apocalypse and a demon shouldn’t have been able to bathe in holy water — so once again, Beelzebub dismissed the doubt the same as they would dismiss a complaint that landed on their desk. 

So Beelzebub grabbed their own thighs in a manner that could almost seem obliging, holding their legs open for Michael. 

“How filthy.” Michael was smirking again as she teased Beelzebub’s wet folds, too gently for their liking. It was overwhelming when she was gentle, like their body wasn’t meant for the sensation. “I suppose I should have expected such depravity from a demon.”

“Yeah, yeah,” hurried Beelzebub, squirming away from the soft hand as much as they could in their compromising position. _Too much pleasure, not enough pain,_ they thought, frustratedly. It was making Michael think she actually had an upper hand. That wouldn't do. 

Beelzebub’s mouth was still coated in blood, and, impulsively, they gathered some up before spitting it straight at Michael’s face, managing to land a red stain on the angel’s cheekbone, before hissing, “Get on with it!”

It immediately had the desired effect and Beelzebub buzzed happily as Michael jumped in shock, fury taking over her eyes for a moment, her grip on their throat tightening. Beelzebub was hoping she was going to crush their throat again but was marginally disappointed when the angel let go. Only marginally, because it was quickly apparent that Michael had only let go so she could pull back to land a quick, hard blow with her fist onto Beelzebub’s face, the loud crunch of knuckles on cartilage ringing through the trial room — and Beelzebub’s nose broke under the assault, their head knocking back and ringing against the metal throne, more blood dripping down their face.

“Disgusting creature,” growled Michael — but she did not wipe away the blood on her face or knuckles, and when Beelzebub blinked up at her, the angel looked… well, she didn’t look like an angel. She was enjoying this far too much to look like an angel, mouth quirked upwards in a smirk — and the look in her eyes was practically _evil_. “Is there any punishment I can dole out that you will not find a way to enjoy?” 

Beelzebub felt an uncontrollable, ugly giggle building in their throat again, the rush of the punch making them downright cheery, only to be cut off abruptly when Michael shoved a finger inside them — turning the giggle into what could only be pathetically described as a whine as they writhed at the sensation, their insides fluttering invitingly around the finger. 

“See, not only do you have this thing, you’re just more aroused after me striking you. It’s almost like you want to be defeated.”

If Beelzebub weren’t busy trying to adjust to the confusing sensation of _too much but not enough_ as Michael moved her finger experimentally, they would have rolled their eyes. So that’s what was getting Michael off — some domination fantasy, the Good triumphing over Evil malarkey. How quaint. 

But before they could think of a good taunt, something new was happening. Michael leaned down and the angel’s free hand was on their throat again, then their jaw, positioning Beelzebub’s face just so, so it was once again a hair's breadth away from Michael’s own — and then their lips and tongues and mouths were pressing together.

It wasn’t exactly a kiss.7 It was really more a tongue pressing into their mouth, lapping at the blood there, but it was shocking and intimate all the same, almost too intimate. They could taste the angel’s holiness on her tongue, something strange and indescribable but achingly nostalgic, and Beelzebub opened their mouth to it, letting Michael’s tongue trace their jagged teeth, tasting their blood. Michael hummed against them, and the sound reverberated inside Beelzebub, a small noise of their own slipping out — _too much not enough._

When Michael pulled back, her mouth was smeared dark with blood, and Beelzebub felt something inside them clench that they were pretty sure they had never felt before.

“Disgusting,” Michael murmured, but she did not sound disgusted at all.

“Yeah,” agreed Beelzebub, because they weren’t quite sure what else to say.

A second finger now, pressing inside to join the first, and Beelzebub groaned throatily, squeezing their eyes shut. Without thinking, they twitched their hips experimentally, moaning again as the fingers pressed against the front of their inner walls. It was good, pain and pleasure balanced, and distantly they heard Michael chuckling above them as she rocked her fingers, repeating the motion of Beelzebub’s hips as if to see if they would make another noise, which of course they did. 

“Look at you,” Michael practically cooed, striking a pattern with the thrusting of her fingers, still holding Beelzebub’s face firmly with her other hand. “What was it you said earlier? Prince of Hell, Lord of the Flies, second only to the Dark Lord… and yet how easily you submit to me.”

Beelzebub moaned again, gripping their thighs painfully tight. They wanted to respond, but also they were somewhat past words or caring about the game they had been playing. The frantic buzzing of flies filled their ears, mingling with the plaintive noises they couldn’t stop making, almost covered the wet noises of Michael’s fingers thrusting into them. 

_Too much not enough too much-_

“More,” they managed to grind out through clenched teeth, unsure of which part exactly they wanted more of. Luckily, Michael had a better idea than they did, because as soon as they said it, she was pressing in a third finger, the stretch of it burning just a little, enough that it made Beelzebub let out another pathetic whine. They were so _full_ , and it felt so good it was overwhelming. They hoped Michael didn’t notice their trembling.

Michael did not continue thrusting, simply letting her fingers fill Beelzebub. It was as if she was letting Beelzebub adjust to the new sensation, as if they needed something like that. Of course, needed and appreciated are not the same, and the strange feeling of something like appreciation felt something like the demon equivalent of sinning. Then, after a moment, silent apart from the insistent buzzing, there was the soft shifting noise of fabric as Michael leaned in, and then she spoke.

“Open your eyes,” she commanded, and Beelzebub obeyed. Her face was close to the demon’s, so close Beelzebub could barely see her, so close that if it weren’t for the smashed state of Beelzebub’s, their noses would be touching. 

“Are you ready for me to defeat you, oh Lord of Flies?” Michael asked sweetly.

“Fuck off,” slurred Beelzebub, their cunt clenching needily around the three fingers inside them. 

Michael beamed, a gruesome smile with bloody teeth. Then she grabbed Beelzebub’s hair — a fistful of the wiry black mess at the top of their head — before pulling hard, shifting the demon’s position again, pulling them back up, taking her fingers out of Beelzebub briefly.

“Straighten up for it, will you,” Michael was muttering, seemingly mostly for herself. “Try and look proper, Prince.” And despite it all, Beelzebub still felt a small surge of accomplishment at the transparent greed in the angel’s holy voice. 

Mostly though, Beelzebub just yelped at the pulling of their hair. They did prefer being up sitting on the throne, though, because they didn’t have to hold their damn thighs anymore and could, in fact, pull one leg out of their trousers in an awkward shuffle as they were inelegantly dragged into place. But more importantly, then they could grind their hand down on their clit, unsure of what exactly to do other than press on it, trying to relieve the throbbing pressure. 

“Impatient,” chided Michael, in that paradoxical voice she had, but did not make any move to stop them, and instead roughly shoved her three fingers back inside Beelzebub, making them hiss. The angel looked strange — red and brown splotches of the demon’s own blood smeared on her stern face. She was objectively one of the most arousing things the demon had ever seen — and Beelzebub wanted to get their blood all over her. 

Slowly, Michael started moving her fingers again’ curling them into Beelzebub, thrusting shallowly. Her other hand remained in Beelzebub’s hair, gripping it and pulling so Beelzebub’s neck was bared to the angel. Beelzebub moaned desperately, feeling at once both the weight of Michael’s gaze on them and the burn of their own pressing need. They were so close, they were sure, so close so close… 

And finally Michael was diving in again to Beelzebub, like a beast on its prey. Michael’s mouth descended again, this time going to Beelzebub’s throat — to bite. The feeling as Michael’s teeth broke through skin with a wet crunch made Beelzebub wail like a banshee8 — and then suddenly, bless it all, they were cumming, hard and sudden around Michael’s fingers. Their whole body convulsed and trembled as the pleasures washed over them, and for a moment, just a moment, Beelzebub felt nothing but pleasure, aching, overpowering pleasure. 

Michael hissed against Beelzebub’s throat as the demon’s cunt clenched hard, like it was trying to break her fingers — but she pressed in harder all the same, fingers curling, chasing the throbs of Beelzebub’s orgasm. 

After the crescendo of it, Beelzebub went limp, and Michael let go of their throat and hair, blood dripping thick from her lips as she let them slump back. She left her three fingers inside them though, just resting and feeling the aftershocks of their orgasm. It seemed as if everything stopped, for just a moment, like the whole universe was taking a small post coital break. 

The peaceful moment passed, though. 

Eventually Michael carefully extracted her fingers from Beelzebub, ignoring the slight hiss of sudden emptiness that the demon made. Instead she peered down, eyeing her own hand and the wetness clinging to it.

“Fascinating organ,” Michael muttered, before she pushed herself off the throne, standing awkwardly. Beelzebub considered making it a joke, asking Michael if she had never really seen a vagina before — but the implications of it possibly being true kept them silent. 

Instead they just shrugged, then started willing their body to reform again, their throat healing and their nose crunching back to normal. Then, as quickly as they healed, the blood was clean from their face and clothes — and their trousers were suddenly on again. 

Michael was still just standing there, her hands crossed, blood dripping down her chin and on to the pure white of her blouse, her eyes fixed on Beelzebub. She didn’t say anything, and neither did Beelzebub as they met the angel’s gaze. 

They weren’t sure what there was to say. 

After a long moment though, Michael cleared her throat.

“You won’t…” she started, then seemed to rethink her wording. “I’m sure you… Can I be assured you won’t tell anyone?”

Beelzebub snorted. “That I let an angel fingerblazzzt me? Of courszze I’m not going to tell anyone.” 

Michael grimaced at Beelzebub’s choice of words, but continued. “I just wanted to be certain-”

“Well it’szz zzzcertain. In fact, shouldn’t I be the one worried you’re going to go around talking about how you ‘defeated’ the Prinzzzce of Hell?” 

The fact that Michael could still look hurt and scandalized while covered in a demon’s blood was either a testament to her holiness, or her acting skills. “You think after everything that’s happened that I would brag about consorting with a demon?”

“So it’szz zzzsettled then. But if you’re quite done taking your anger out on me, I think you really ought to be heading back upstairszzz, to deal with that phonecall of yourszzz.”

Michael shook her head, mood instantly souring again, just slightly. “You didn’t hear it from me. I imagine Gabriel’s going to be wanting to hush it up. A rogue angel.” She made a face like the words tasted bad in her mouth, then she looked down at herself and seemed to finally register the mess she had made, the red and white.

“Going to go up with a zzzsouvenir?” asked Beelzebub, raising their eyebrows mockingly. 

Michael answered with a glare, but still did not miracle herself clean. Instead she turned, walking over to the tub and picking up the white towel she had miracled earlier. Meticulously, she began wiping the blood off her hands with it, and as the holy water soaked towel touched Beelzebub’s blood it bubbled and hissed, steaming as it disappeared. 

Beelzebub flinched at the sight instinctively, but, given the circumstances, also squeezed their thighs together. They weren’t sure if the Archangel was threatening them or teasing them, but she had achieved both ends. 

After her hands, Michael washed her neck and face, wiping away the demonic blood — until she was fully clean, miracling her blouse back to starchy whiteness. Then she miracled the towel away, and turned back to meet Beelzebub’s gaze. 

“Well,” she said, primly. “Until we meet again?”

Beelzebub hummed thoughtfully, keeping their face impassive. They decided not to answer the silent question that was in Michael’s platitude. 

“Don’t forget to take that with you,” they said, gesturing towards the tub. “Last thing I need is any stray holy water lying around.” 

“Ah, of course.” And then the pitcher was no longer shattered all over the wall and floor, but in Michael’s hands, and then it was full of water, the tub bone dry. 

Michael smiled at them, with that smug angelic look she had, and nodded politely. “Lord Beelzebub. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Juzzzst go back to Heaven already.”

Another look, and then Michael turned on her heel, walking back to the elevator — back to her own mess.

And then, finally, Beelzebub was alone.

They slumped down in their seat again, taking a moment to take a very unnecessary breath. 

Idly, they wondered if this is what humans called a ‘midlife crisis’.9 Being an immortal being, Beelzebub, of course, couldn’t truly have a midlife anything — but having your entire purpose cancelled feels sort of similar, maybe. Beelzebub, for the first time in their 6000 year existence as the leader of the legions of Hell, felt rather helpless. And worse even than that was the inevitable _drudgery_ — honestly, the thing Beelzebub had been looking forward to most about war was the lack of paperwork. And now, no war, no execution, just more work, forever. 

And Michael felt the same way, it seemed. 

Since no one was watching, Beelzebub giggled a little, thinking about how Michael had looked, sadistic and bloody and lusty. Beelzebub had not been lying earlier — they had always thought Michael would have made a good demon. It was exciting to see her chomping at the bit, tugging at the reins Heaven had on her. Not that she would ever Fall, not now — but it was still exciting.

The thought of Michael covered in their blood, tasting it, was enough to sustain Beelzebub as they stood, tugging at their suit so they looked presentable.10 Then they straightened up, and schooled their face into one of neutral displeasure.

Time to go back to work.

* * *

1 Beelzebub had actually had one very good week in 1873. They didn’t know that it was at least somewhat related to Crowley having chosen to sleep through a good bit of that decade. All Beelzebub knew was that from April 16th, 1873 to April 22nd, 1873, no one bothered them at all. ^

2 One obvious example to the contrary notwithstanding. Traitors didn’t count anyway. ^

3 It happened, especially when they were under stress. They’d start coming out of their ears next. ^

4 Or rather, bad. ^

5 Beelzebub, it must be remarked, enjoyed pain the way a sommelier might enjoy wine. You didn’t get to be the best without knowing the product inside and out, appreciating all its notes and aromas, and sometimes getting drunk on the clock, so to speak. It wasn’t exactly what humans might deem “a sex thing” — but it wasn’t exactly not a sex thing either.^

6 Despite lust technically being a part of Hell’s whole thing, there weren’t exactly a lot of reason or opportunity to engage in anything resembling sexual pleasure in Hell — so most demons never really bothered to make the effort unless it was part of a job. Beelzebub themself had never actually gotten around to it.^

7 Or at least Beelzebub was pretty sure that, as far as what kisses were supposed to be, this wasn’t it. They weren’t 100 percent sure, because demons, as a rule, did not kiss, and frankly, Beelzebub was unclear on the whole process. Dagon had shown them a diagram once but it didn’t clear much up.^

8 Which was arguably drowned out to any nearby demons by, you guessed it, flies.^

9 Beelzebub only knew the term because, according to the statistic reports they had to read every quarter decade, that was the age when Hell claimed the most souls, after teenagehood of course.^

10 And that was all Beelzebub thought of. They didn’t think about the pleasure, the rush they felt at the gentle touches and not-kiss. They didn’t think of how good it felt to _submit_ , as Michael had worded it, even if it was all pretend. They didn’t.^

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery Warning List: Contains extreme choking/throat crushing, punching, and extreme biting. Beelzebub enjoys all of this, Michael does too but doesn’t realize Beelzebub does immediately (but catches on fairly quick). And if that’s all groovy you may now go back up!
> 
> ***
> 
> I realized halfway through writing this that I was using book only formatting for show only characters, it didn’t stop me but I did realize it.
> 
> Also I haven’t been writing much due to mental health issues but I am tentatively back? I have a sequel to this fic over halfway done, at least. I love writing these two jerks. 
> 
> Title is from the song Hungover in Jonestown by Amigo the Devil, which is incidentally a good Michael/Beelzebub song.
> 
> Also thank you too my gf Patricia/labellelunaclaire for editing.


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